The bearer of evil tidings,
When he was halfway there,
Remembered that evil tidings
Were a dangerous thing to bear.
So when he came to the parting
Where one road led to the throne
And one went off into the mountains
And into the wild unknown
He took the one to the mountains…
— beginning of The Bearer of Evil Tidings by Robert Frost
Janus
My voice emerges thoughtful in tone. "It's a marvellous structure, to be sure. Undoubtedly the only battle station ever built on such a grand scale, and with the power to destroy an entire planet, it would indeed serve to inspire fear."
Harat shrills as if in amusement, cocking her head sideways to peer up at me.
"But that's the best I'm able to come up with," I tell her. "What am I going to do? I can't sound as if I'm quoting Tarkin's own propaganda back to him. To be quite frank, that's perfectly ridiculous."
She ruffles her feathers and gazes off disinterestedly through the transparisteel pane, this time to stars instead of city.
We're on our way to visit the largest artificial spherical object of terror this galaxy has ever seen. To my mind, any way I can plainly describe the thing sounds miserably inane.
"Perhaps I should simply make light talk with him. Do you think he's that sort of a man?"
Harat clucks disapprovingly.
"I thought as much. He doesn't seem to be very conversational. A rather pragmatic type." And narcissistic. I smile quietly. However I reorder, comprise, or substitute my words, it will turn out to be a most interesting meeting. Ah, Harat, you're spoiling me. I shouldn't be speaking freely to anyone, really, for fear I completely lose my mind. At least no one else is in this room.
She shifts her weight and stretches a wing.
Isn't it peculiar, I think, that a powerful weapon could be turned into a silly little metal ball with a few derisive thoughts on my part? A few comparisons to the magnificent and vast celestial bodies it passes among? I'm such a little Emperor in the same way, really. I must not forget that.
The ship shudders beneath my feet, and I know we're reverting from hyperspace, beginning the approach to the hulking battle station.
I smile secretly. I'd told Tarkin that I'd be visiting in and around a standard week. Or so I told him yesterday. Hopefully such an abrupt visit will gain me some knowledge of how he truly operates things. As such, I've ordered the pilot to give no out-of-the-ordinary transmissions of any kind, nor did I require an escort. It's me, the shuttle, Harat, and the small party of two officers and two Royal Guards.
Then I recall how brief the hyperspace trip was. It's as if we never left the Core. Which, in fact, we haven't. I was able to bring up the location of the Death Star along with the pilot of my shuttle just before I departed on this surprise visit. So near Alderaan? It's almost close enough to begin orbiting the planet. Perhaps close enough to…?
I shake my head. I'll reprimand Tarkin if he's so much as thought of even marring the planet. Demonstrations must be made on uninhabited celestial bodies, if at all. The very idea of obliterating an entire populated planet, even one reputed to house Rebellion activities…
The co-pilot approaches me, smartly dressed in the manner of all Imperial officers. He gives a respectful bow. "Your Highness, we are prepared to dock within the Death Star."
"Good. Do you suppose they suspect anything?"
"No, your Highness."
I nod. "Find Tarkin's location, and direct me there promptly."
"As you wish, your Highness." He bows once again and leaves me to the company of my birdhawk.
Harat warbles low in her throat.
"I know." I reach up and rub the side of her head. If Qui-Gon's watching, I hope I won't disappoint him.
It's a very interesting idea, if not perfectly odd.
I walk between and slightly before the Royal Guards that accompanied me on the way here. They can see me perfectly well. However, it's a little different for those we pass by in the halls.
Our presence attracts much respectful attention from the others within the Death Star. They see two Royal Guards making their way through the halls with no escort, a mysterious but unremarkable occasion. Those who might have questions are wise enough to keep their mouths clamped shut.
I've learned Tarkin is currently within one of the operations rooms and is having a prisoner brought in. This rouses my curiosity greatly and I hope I'll be able to reach the room before anything terrible happens. I doubt Tarkin, being an Imperial Moff, is without his short-enough temper, control it as he may.
Our passage continues for a while, five minutes perhaps. My pilot did well in requesting a docking bay suitably close to the operations room. I'll have to remember to commend him for that later.
A pair of stormtroopers stand on either side of the room's door but seem to be compliant enough to the wishes of a couple of Royal Guards. They accordingly open the doors with little fanfare and allow us in.
The scene seems to be very close to what I'd expected. Tarkin stands not far from a massively wide viewport, through which can be seen the blue-green marble of Alderaan. There are half a dozen stormtroopers about, and one sorry-looking prisoner clothed in unfamiliar military dress, though by his posture alone he's feeling defiant enough. A Rebel, perhaps? Other than these, there are some officers about the operations room going about their miscellaneous business, keeping everything running smoothly while their Moff focuses on the interrogation.
That focus is quickly distracted, however, by the approach of a certain pair of Royal Guards.
The look of surprise on Tarkin's face is almost worth the entire trip. "What is the meaning of this?"
I allow myself an irrepressible smile of satisfaction before releasing my hold on the minds surrounding me, allowing them to see all and sundry present.
Tarkin's expression then changes to that of one almost worth the past few years.
"I could ask the same thing of you, Tarkin," I reply in as cold a voice as I can manage to match my own facial cast, and glance at the one I suppose to be a Rebel captain. "Where did this man come from?"
"Your Highness." Tarkin bows abruptly. "Forgive me. He was intercepted along with a Rebellion operation departing from Alderaan. Intelligence has reason to believe his crew was carrying information and blueprints of this very battle station, as well as a Rebel consul, from the Outer Rim to Alderaan. Their corvette was spotted close to Tatooine en route to—"
"Enough," I cut him off, my thoughts running wild. Tatooine? Just now? Was I on my way to intercept this force when I awoke? Suppressing a shiver, I look at the stormtroopers and the crew dismissively. "Leave us. Tarkin, you stay along with the Rebel."
The room clears of its excess population rapidly. It would be a blatant lie to say that the Rebel has any colour left within his face (though the interrogation likely didn't help), and Tarkin seems to be considering such an approach as well. I still cannot but wonder at such an effect my presence has on most.
"I had wondered, Tarkin, at your ideas for orbiting such a planet. I don't believe I'll bother to hear out an explanation from you, as I've already a good enough idea of what such a speech might entail. Now." I gesture out at the brilliant orb that is the focus of the Death Star's attention. "Concerning Alderaan. You will not employ any manner of destructive force upon it, nor any other inhabited planet that might serve as a military target. Consider that a direct order, Tarkin."
He remains stonily silent until I have finished, with a slight contradictory flicker in his eyes. I will have to watch this one. "Yes, your Highness."
I turn my attention to the Rebel. "What's your name, Captain?"
The Rebel really does deserve credit; he endures in silence, his fear contained and under control. Evidently he's had training for this sort of thing, but there is no training a non-sensitive can undergo to completely block his mind from a light probe, especially since I've seemed to become extremely adept at it somewhere along the line.
I give a slight mechanical-sounding sigh. "Very well, then, Captain Antilles."
Still, he does not flinch.
"What would you think of it, were I to release you and permanently cripple this battle station?" I make the question sound as if I'm merely curious, inquiring upon a whim. Which is not precisely the case.
His voice sounds cracked and dried, and somewhat hoarse, but he speaks with the same control he has over his emotions. "I'd think you were designing a trap."
I nod. "That's what I thought. Tarkin." I give him a warning glance, as the Moff seems to be weighing the idea of giving the Rebel captain a hefty blow. "I will advise you only this once not to interfere, whether you consider it to be helpful or not."
Their collective discomfort has increased exponentially within the past half minute, and I'm forced to contemplate what rumours this might spread. I need not be so worried about my image as what that might do to this Empire I feel is my duty to begin to heal. "Captain Antilles, will you please hold your hands up?" I approach him as he does so, and touch the locks on the pair of binders that were clipped about his wrists. It doesn't take much more than a bit of Force-manipulation, and the cuffs fall to the floor.
I then slip my hand inside my outer uniform jacket, and produce a datacard, handing it to the captain. "Give this, along with my regards, to Viceroy Organa as soon as you can reach him. I promise you, there is no fear of me stooping so childishly low as to attempt to assassinate him with a disguised explosive. You may inspect it as you wish." I keep my expression firm and unyielding, looking him straight in the face. "I will escort you myself to the nearest shuttle bay and see you off." I glance at Tarkin, who, to put it mildly, is incredulous. "Is that understood?"
"Yes, your Highness."
I feel like I'm surrounded by droids, especially when I'm in Imperial company. Unpleasant. And I think I can make a very safe assumption that I do not like Tarkin whatsoever. I gesture for Captain Antilles to follow me, and with that, head out of the operations room into the hall. This could prove to be a very long day, unless I decide to do something about it.
There was a talk with Tarkin. More resembling something between a lecture and a debriefing, really. I've given him a very special assignment.
As I walk back into my shuttle, Harat is there, perched upon the copilot's forearm. They don't appear to mind each other's company at all, but as soon as she spots me heading up the boarding ramp she launches herself into the air and spans the short distance with a couple of powerful pumps of her wings, landing with easy grace on my shoulder.
I nod at the copilot, and continue into the ship as he leaves for the cockpit.
This is a momentous occasion, Harat, I think, perhaps somewhat nervously. Whatever happens after this, happens. But I needed to do this. I had to do something, and hopefully I'm correct in following along this path.
She shrills a soft cry and nips the top of my ear.
I can still picture the scene how I left it. Tarkin, in the central control area, will soon be the only living sentient aboard the entire Death Star. Control, however, is something that has been taken from him. Standing amidst a tightly knit circle of security droids (the only ones to be found in the entire Death Star), he will witness the final journey of the battle station, which I've understood to be, to some extent, his brainchild.
My resolution is grim. The Death Star's destination is set; the coordinates are locked in. Its debut performance will be its last, a sacrifice to the system of a world that could have been destroyed itself, in turn.
Sweet irony.
It takes hours for the evacuation to draw to completion. Shuttle after transport after corvette pour from various docking bays. The battle station bleeds metal from its pores in all directions, the streams gradually taking shape into linear flows and grouping for a jump.
Harat watches the procedure with me, crooning low in her throat every now and again. I sense an unease within her, but I'm not sure of the reason for it.
This is the end. This is the beginning.
"Give the signal," I tell my copilot.
It takes several minutes, but the Death Star soon accelerates to a noticeable velocity from our viewpoint nearly one hundred kilometres distant. Ponderously it picks up speed, giving Alderaan a wide berth as it hurtles onward toward its fiery destination.
We keep watching.
A while longer, and the station gains a velocity close to lightspeed. At such an invariable rapidity, there is no question as to Tarkin's fate.
Let the worlds watch. This is the price of abused power, stamped, sealed, and inevitable. This is the Moff's reckoning. What can be done with such an instrument of terror as has been constructed here?
A movement of Harat's head beckons my eye, and I catch myself staring back into hers.
"Almost there…"
"…womp rats back home."
"…estimated in range in fifteen minutes."
"…little cooked, but I'm okay…"
"…to onboard computer…"
"May the Force be with us…"
"…s-foils in attack position…"
"…now? In our moment of triumph?"
"…I have you now."
"…overestimate their chances!"
"…strong in the Force…"
"…I'm all right."
"…shot, kid! That was one in a million!"
The vision of the outwardly expanding ring of light emanating from the destroyed Death Star overlays itself in my eyes and I blink several times, clearing the disjointed jumble of voices from within my mind that seem to pile on top of one another. That wasn't real.
"The Death Star has entered the sun," announces the pilot.
Harat still stares at me, almost accusingly.
Did I do something wrong? I wonder. Was I ever supposed to awake from Xiian? But no. If the consul had been captured, chances would be so very close to impossible that he or she would be able to escape with the plans. What am I missing?
Harat turns her head to look at something, a movement so sudden I nearly start.
It's the youth, walking up beside me. All my subordinates are predictably oblivious to his presence. He's still haggard-looking, almost as a younger (and more becoming) version of Tarkin. But there is something very different about him, all the same. And his face almost seems to be a little more filled in than it was on Coruscant, or is it just me, perhaps?
"It's time to go," he says, moving in front of me.
Conveniently, I can still manage a pretence of staring out the viewport into the stars beyond, when in reality I study his face as he studies mine. To Alderaan? Captain Antilles will have made it back by now with my message.
"Yes, go to Alderaan, and keep your original plan of going unaccompanied. Organa wouldn't be very receptive to a squad of stormtroopers, no matter how much of a diplomat he is."
Very good. I'll be off as soon as I can manage.
His dark eyes bore into me, but I think I see a glimmer of blue for the barest moment. "Remember, time may well be of the essence."
I blink, and he is gone, leaving my eyes to focus on the stars billions of kilometres away.
Harat fluffs her headfeathers, straightening her posture majestically before settling down once more.
It's a beautiful day.
I run my fingertips along the smooth surface of the balcony's railing, absorbing the sights and sounds of a late Alderaani morning. I have some time to myself while I await an escort that will take me to my meeting with Organa's representative. I have received word that he is unable to attend, as there was some sort of conference scheduled for today. Quite obviously, we both wished my presence to be as inconspicuous as feasibly possible, and therefore he could not slip out of the conference, even for a meeting with the Emperor.
I still have to come to terms with that title. It feels unnatural. Although perhaps I shouldn't wear it comfortably at all. Assumption and complacency are deadly things to play with.
There has been no word of who this representative will be. I feel I might be in for a surprise of sorts, but at this point it feels as if there is little that would surprise me. Nevertheless, circumstance is notorious for making men eat those very words.
Harat is still wheeling above me in the rapture of flight. I had had enough faith that she'd return to me again, so I let her roam free for a while on this, her planet of origin. Perhaps it's fortunate that there are no other birdhawks around, or the call of the wild might prove too strong for her to resist.
Then I sense the presence of a pair of men approaching, and I turn to face them before their footsteps become audible, quiet as they are. One is the captain of the guard, and the other is one of his subordinates. The captain is a stout man of average height with steely gray, sharply intelligent eyes. The other nearly matches him in stature but he has the look of a follower about him.
"Your Highness," the captain addresses me once he comes close enough, bowing. "If you will allow me to lead you to your vehicle."
Immediately Harat swoops down to land neatly on my shoulder, tucking her wings in swiftly and eyeing the captain back, matching his penetrating gaze.
The captain takes this readily. Perhaps he has a birdhawk of his own at home; how am I to know? Turning about along with his subordinate, he leads me off the balcony to a path along the side of a hill, rounding a corner to the speeder sitting there.
It's an interesting vehicle, at least. The canopy closes off the interior, presenting the personal transport in the shape of a very streamlined box. Although, most speeders are in the shape of streamlined boxes, so I shouldn't be taken aback.
The interior is decorated in the simple elegance that is automatically identified with the typical and often traditional Alderaanian style. Some unusual shapes provide an eye-catching flair.
That's it, Harat. What am I doing, being an Emperor? I should have entered into interior design. I missed my life's calling.
She warbles merrily as we accelerate on our way.
The place of meeting starts out as something of an underground warren. The speeder carries us directly into a tunnel carved into the side of a rising mountain, coming to a halt inside some sort of parking and reception area.
I emerge from the speeder, sounding out the locality with the Force, my senses alert to every movement of the Alderaanians that have accompanied me here.
The captain is one of them, and again I follow him to my destination. We enter a narrow tunnel, the dappled gray stone of the mountain on every side. It winds up very gradually. Harat shifts her weight upon my shoulder frequently, and I'm surprised at her show of uneasiness, as we've been in tight places before where she hasn't been noticeably affected. Does she feel something about the situation, perhaps? Should I be leery as well?
I feel that would hinder me, rather than help, at this point. Candour is what I'll need to get anywhere with Organa's representative, I think, and I had better start preparing myself for that mindset already. Harat, calm yourself. There's nothing amiss that I can sense.
She does relax somewhat at that message, and it helps me as well that I don't have a restless hawk clawing away at my shoulder.
The tunnel straightens out, coming to a platform where construction is merged with mountain rock in a building that juts out of the mountainside, a stunning panoramic view presented by the transparent walls on one side, where the other wall is still that fascinating natural rock.
Aside from me and the captain, four honour guards stand at each corner of the room, which stretches out but has something of a lower ceiling, perhaps three metres high.
At the centre of the room sits an elegantly carved table, and to my surprise, a girl of perhaps twenty, or younger still, stands on the end opposite from me. Her long white hair seems to ripple over her shoulders as she bows. When she straightens, a pair of pale green eyes stare at me, somewhat introspectively. "Welcome, your Highness. As I am sure you know, Viceroy Organa apologises for his inability to be present. My name is Winter."
"I thank you for your willingness to meet with me in private, Winter." Interesting, I think to myself as I take a seat at one end of the table, the girl at the other, and the captain leaves the room as Harat hops to a higher perch on top of the chair's back. There's always something more to find out about these Alderaanians. I wonder why they sent a girl so young? I find myself looking to her hair, almost perfectly straight and worn long and loose in the traditional way of the adult Alderaanian. It's not the silver of old age, but a crystalline white, enough to reflect small rainbows as the sunlight filters in from the windows in the one wall, creating a sharp contrast of light and shadow on her young face. But there is something about her manner, her poise, that strikes me as altogether mature for her age. That would be a key ingredient for a responsibility such as this. One of Organa's trusted aides, most likely. "I'm sure there is some uncertainty as to the reason of this meeting, correct?"
She hesitates, for the barest moment. "Yes, your Highness. Though, if I may be so bold as to say, there are some thoughts it may be connected with the recent destruction of your battle station."
I smile a little. "Yes. Those beliefs are not unfounded. I have eliminated a superweapon I viewed to be more of a threat than a safeguard to this galaxy. I arrived at that conclusion through a very confusing and unprecedented process, however, and I have reason to concern myself with the possibility that I will not be believed in what I say."
Winter's eyebrows lift a little in surprise. "Your Highness?"
I lean forward on my elbows. "How secure is our conversation, Winter?"
"Quite secure, your Highness. All you say will be as confidential as you wish it. The guards may take leave if you like."
I silently debate the wisdom of this. Asking them to leave may rouse suspicion, but if premature word of what I have to say leaks out, which would cause more damage? I arrive at a decision. "Yes, I would appreciate that."
The silent sentinels leave the room, seeming to glide out the door. Winter's demeanour does not waver at the prospect of having herself unguarded. Perhaps she realises it wouldn't make much of a difference. Her eyes never take themselves off me, as if she's absorbing as much as she possibly can.
"You may not have expected me to be candid with you, Winter."
"I am ready for whatever you have to discuss with me, your Highness."
I smile thinly. "Very well. I will not try to be oblique about this, and I must ask the same of you, as well as a certain amount of objectiveness in hearing what I have to say."
"Yes, your Highness." And she is indeed ready and open, though somewhat wary. But that cannot be helped.
I pause for a long moment. "The proposal I have to make will seem absurd at best without some background information. Therefore, I'm going to start by telling you about something that happened to a young Jedi apprentice a little less than a week ago. I know what the standings of the Jedi are in this galaxy, Winter," I respond to the curious look on her face. "They are believed to be completely wiped out. Such assumptions can often prove to be groundless, though. This Padawan's name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. I doubt you know of him by that name. Neither would anyone else for that matter, but the story is important, regardless."
There comes upon a person, sometime in their life, a feeling that cannot be denied or pushed away. Often it's a truth that comes as little surprise, as if it's been dwelling within for long enough that the subconscious is well acquainted with it. Still, when it surfaces, there is no telling a lie, though that might have been cleaner. If there was a word, even a story to make this real to someone's eyes, to enlighten this upon them, I wonder if it would be any easier. I would not wish this feeling on anyone else. It is not something I have. It's something I've lost, and the worth of what has left me could not have been measured, can never be weighed as a tangible price. What I've done, who I've become, makes me glad for the lack of attachments. This future is an escape, but a sad one at best. Would my teachers have taken pity on me? Would they have forgiven me for this? I can't even, myself, can't take the shame off my shoulders…
You've lost.
You've lost.
You lost.
The frozen moment just after the last word falls from my mouth thaws back into the fourth dimension as time speeds on without mercy. For a second my mind fools itself into thinking my thoughts might have been audible; Winter looks across the table at me, her comely green eyes pinched up just a little in a strange expression, curious, yet enough to tell me she is beginning to realise the implications here.
"Winter. Have you ever wished to forget the past?"
She hesitates, eyes dropping to the tabletop, and nods once.
I think I've touched upon something without realising it. But I keep on. "There is value in it, no matter how painful it may be. I have very little past of my own to draw from. I am told I have been in this galaxy for fifty-seven years. Out of those, I remember merely twenty-five."
Winter is interesting to watch. The average sentient might not be able to read the flickers in her expression, but I am able to connect them with the small pulses she creates in the Force. She doesn't want to appear withdrawn, but at the same time she believes she may be smelling some sort of confusing trap. It appears neither of us know what to think, which is a frightening thought in itself. But something within compels me to go on. "Palpatine used to be a senator from Naboo. You know this?"
"Yes, your Highness."
"Evidently, with the aftermath before you, it's now quite simple to see how he engineered his rise to power, starting as a mere senator from a unique but wholly unremarkable Mid-Rim planet, while at the same time he was one half of all that was left of the ancient Sith Order, him and his apprentice hidden from the scrutiny of the Jedi by the clouding effect of the dark side of the Force." I pause, and see she is genuinely curious. She's been told the story before, evidently, but not by someone with such inside information, though I only lightly touch upon it in my need to summarise. "As Darth Sidious, he proposed a bargain to the Trade Federation: let them start an invasion on Naboo, and they would be able to keep whatever they could glean from it. Reasonable enough for a coward like Viceroy Gunray, who was able to hide behind his formidable droid army. Naturally, the queen of the Naboo didn't take to such a blatant invasion and appealed to the Senate with Palpatine to support her cause, or so she thought. As Palpatine had predicted, the Senate was so entangled in legalistic processes, Queen Amidala became disgusted and called for a vote of no confidence in Supreme Chancellor Valorum."
Winter nods, piecing it together once more.
"This put Senator Palpatine in a most ideal position. With sympathy from other worlds in the Republic for the invasion, he won the election and was promoted to Chancellor himself. The Trade Federation was beaten away from Naboo, but to little negative effect for Palpatine. He had accomplished what had had to be done for such a rise in power. No matter how corrupt he may have been, one must give him some posthumous credit for his foresight and patience. It was ten more years before the Clone Wars were catalysed. He seized his emergency powers as Chancellor while his second apprentice, who was defeated at the rise of the Empire, oversaw the operations of the Separatists. Working together, they split apart the Republic, using the Clone Wars to rid the galaxy of thousands of Jedi, and the rest…"
Her expression doesn't flicker as I trail off. But there is a new coldness in her eyes, as if the green had frosted over. A coldness not only of accusation, but vaguely of fear.
I draw a breath and conclude in a quiet voice. "Before the Clone Wars, perhaps mere hours after the Federation had been defeated on Naboo, this Padawan Kenobi was taken prisoner and escorted offplanet by the Federation. At the end of that journey, he met Palpatine, who was then only a senator. And that, Winter, is where the memories end."
She is silent.
"Your hatred is not without reason," I tell her. "But I neither expect nor wish for your pity. I merely wish for you to see the reason behind my proposition. Speak freely; I will impose no consequence."
Winter expends another minute to collect her thoughts. "I understand, your Highness, that you suppose it was not yourself who worked for Emperor Palpatine?"
"It is not possible to plead innocence when no memory of the facts remain for argument. Perhaps I was a victim of circumstance, in part. Has life always been fair to you?"
"Victims of circumstance can often become victims of their own decisions following the event, your Highness." She seems surprised at her own words.
"You are correct. Would it be well for me to present my proposal now?"
"As your Highness wishes," she murmurs, still unsure of herself.
"There are two things I'd like to discuss not only with you, but the leaders of the Rebel Alliance: the presentation of a treaty, and the undercurrent I've been sensing of one real remaining power."
She blinks, but doesn't move. "Power, your Highness?"
"Yes. Even the Rebels may not know of what I speak. Well-hidden, so much so that someone not as well acquainted with him would never have sensed it."
Once again quick to the conclusion, Winter guesses what sort of being I refer to, and her fear grows.
I lean forward and tell her quietly: "There is one Jedi remaining, Winter. And I will see myself before him to be dealt with as he will."